So, interwebs ... yesterday was the infamous, the notorious, the ever-joyful event that is St. Patrick’s Day! And where better to be than Dublin, the legitimate home of the international alcoholic tourist?
No lie interwebs, this city -- Temple Bar to be specific -- became a complete mad house, with people wearing completely atrocious hats and garb, glitter and stockings.
Best part: the Irish are least likely to dress that way.
We spent the morning at our professor’s house over on the North End because the parade starts off of his block (it’s comforting to find graffiti reading “No Loyalists! CIRA March!” on a building). Pretty epic. None of the floats actually made sense. We ate American style BBQ. There were Irish children.
What was the topping on the cake you ask, dear interwebs? I would have to say that it was a combination of hanging out at Doyle’s with three guys named Rownan, Declan, and Eogen + Jaime being convinced that one of them [coughEogenthebarristercough] was a serial killer.
Until the next fake Irish holiday, or something more interesting pops along ...
-E
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